


Keep it Professional

by mldrgrl



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2018-10-24
Packaged: 2019-08-06 17:13:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16391831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mldrgrl/pseuds/mldrgrl
Summary: Written by request for a story that takes after Anasazi when Mulder stumbles into Scully's apartment





	Keep it Professional

Scully paces in front of the foot of her bed, biting the side of her thumbnail.  Mulder is sprawled listlessly on her bed in dirty boots and a bloods-splattered flannel shirt.  He’s sweaty with fever and barely coherent. She doesn’t know what to do.

 

When he first stumbled through her door, Scully thought Mulder might be in shock.  He was disoriented and agitated. She could hear his rapid and husky breaths as he leaned against her for support.  But, there’s his fever and the malaise and the fact that he has occasional coughing fits. It could be the flu, perhaps pneumonia.  She can’t take him to a hospital though, they’d only ask questions.

 

Come on, Dana, you’re a medical doctor.  Get it together. She removes her blazer and tosses it over towards the empty chair by her dresser.  As she unlaces Mulder’s boots, she watches his fact, but his eyes are closed, mouth open.

 

“Mulder?” she whispers as she pulls off his left boot.

 

He makes a little noise in his throat and his brows twitch together as though he’s in pain, but he doesn’t open his eyes.  She pulls off his right boot and sets both quietly at the foot of the bed.

 

The cool cloth she placed on Mulder’s head when she first got him to lay down has warmed from Mulder’s overheated skin and she takes it away to wet it down again with cold water.  His eyes roll open as she drapes it over his forehead and she puts a hand on his cheek to direct his gaze to her. The whites of his eyes are completely bloodshot and his pupils are abnormally dilated.

 

“I need to get you out of these clothes,” Scully says.  She waits for the wisecrack response from Mulder, but his eyes roll shut again and his head lolls to the side.

 

Shit, she thinks, and starts to work on the buttons of his shirt.  Crusty dried blood caked the bottom buttons so instead of undoing them, she took both sides of the shirt and yanked them apart.  His undershirt was also soaked with blood and she cringed. She needed scissors.

 

It’s difficult work, getting Mulder out of his shirts.  He’s dead weight, completely unhelpful. She cuts the undershirt off and wrestles his arms out of his sleeves, breathing heavily from exertion when she finally has him bare-chested.  She saves the blood stained clothes in a bag in case they’re needed as forensic evidence in the future.

 

Speaking of forensic evidence, she unclips the holster from Mulder’s hip and is careful not to put her prints on his gun.  She bags it and puts it on the dining table to have ballistics take a look at it in the morning. While in the kitchen, she fills a bowl with tepid water and brings it back with her to the bedroom.  Using the cloth from his forehead she pats down his chest and arms. His skin still feels too hot to the touch for her comfort.

 

Mulder’s unconsciousness and weight pose another problem when it comes to his jeans.  She opens the snap, but doesn’t know what to do about the zipper. It feels inappropriate.  

 

“Mulder?” she whispers.  “I have to…um…”

 

Mulder’s lashes don’t even flutter.  His chest rises and falls too quickly, but evenly.  He glistens all over with sweat, which pushes Scully into action.  Quickly, she opens his fly and starts to wiggle his jeans down his hips.  She moves too fast though and doesn’t realize until it’s too late that she’s taken his jockey shorts for the ride and he ends up partially exposed.  She’s caught off-guard and pauses, staring at the dark thatch of pubic hair and the curve of his flaccid penis. About three seconds after realizing she’s inadvertently stripped her partner a little too far, she also realizes she’s bent so low over her hips she’s essentially breathing over his crotch. 

 

Scully jumps back, and glances up at Mulder.  His eyes are open and glassy. He’s staring at her though, blinking languidly.

 

“Sorry,” she says.  “I didn’t-” She gets no further as Mulder is suddenly seized with a coughing fit.  She presses a hand to his chest and one to his shoulder. The fit passes and his eyes droop again.

 

You’re a professional, she tells herself.  Get it together. And she does. She manages to remove his pants, put his underwear back into place, and wash down his legs without further incident.  Mulder remains asleep. 

 

Scully moves back to the foot of the bed and watches Mulder sleep.  She watches the rise and fall of his chest, assessing his breathing from afar.  It’s slowed a little, down to something more normal. He shivers slightly, just a light clench of his muscles from head to toe with a small jerk and she’s back at his side in an instant.

 

Of course, he’s laying on top of the covers and in order to get at them, she has to grunt and tug to pull them free.  It doesn’t occur to her to grab the blanket she keeps on the back of the couch.

 

“You’re a pain in my ass,” she mutters as she tries to wriggle the covers out from under him.

 

“But, you love me,” Mulder murmurs back.  Scully looks up. For all intents and purposes he looks to be asleep, eyes closed, jaw slack.

 

“Mulder?”

 

He doesn’t answer.  She drapes the sheet and comforter over him and then touches the back of her hand to his cheek.  Keep it professional, she tells herself. Keep it professional.

 

The End


End file.
